


marionette

by cadaeic



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2507234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadaeic/pseuds/cadaeic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strife gets visited by the Ghosts of Gaijin Rock Past, Present and Future. Parvill, Str11fe, and a different interpretation of Area 11 as Demigods. Slight remix of 11x4. Heavy references to the Area 11 skits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	marionette

**1\. now I freeze paralysed – homunculus**

Strife supposed it was his fault, but he wasn’t that willing to put the blame on himself. He had just asked an innocent question-

Well, as innocent as he could be. Certainly not tinged with any feelings of jealousy, no siree.

Sitting on the steps of the blood altar, waiting for Parvis to finish whatever dark deed he was doing and making absolutely _sure_ that Parv could _tell_ that he was wrinkling his nose, Strife had been rather bored. His mind wandered, as it did with these kinds of matters, and he’d asked-

“Do you ever think about your old band members?”

Really, though, he was asking about Parv’s _past_ , about his regrets and maybe even if Parv had ever done _anything_ with his old friends-

Parv shrugged. “Yeah, sometimes I miss them!” he said, not turning to look at Strife. “But- that’s all back _then_ and I’m sure they’re having fun without me.” There wasn’t any bitterness in his voice, just a matter of fact statement.

They-

Strife couldn’t remember what they had talked about, next. He knew they had a long conversation about the band but-

He went to bed, quite confused.

 

* * *

 

 

**2\. how can i stay here and rust – the strays**

There was the noise of a commotion, arguing, raised voices going on and on and on about something. Groaning, Strife sat up in his bed and blinked the sleep out of his eyes furiously-

This was NOT the Solution Towers

Frantically looking around at the lovely cream walls and the very distinctly _hotel_ like room, with a lame picture of some flowers on the wall opposite, Strife tried to take stock of his surroundings and found himself just plain lost.

The door slammed open, and a man came in. Strife didn’t recognise him or his brown hair, but he was wearing the same triangle t-shirt that Parv always wore. He stared at Strife with an appraising eye and gave a very distinct smirk.

“So, you’re the new masseur, eh?” asked the man.

The sheer absurdity of this question was trumped by the sheer _indignity_ , and Strife almost fell out of the bed in his haste to scramble out and stand up. “What- no! No, I- where the _hell_ am I and who the hell are you?!”

The man looked a bit taken aback, but to his credit, he recovered quickly. He reached into his pocket and grabbed what looked like money, holding them out to Strife.

Strife stared at the money, which looked rather too colourful to be actual legal tender. He reached for it-

And the man yanked it back. “Didn’t Parv ever tell you not to accept things in dreams?” he said. “You _are_ dreaming, by the way. Pity, too - you’d make a _great_ massage therapist. Ever considered a career in that?”

“I am not a massage therapist,” Strife growled. “Tell me who you are and what you want, and I’ll-”

“No _wonder_ Parv likes you,” said the man, grinning. “I’m Kogie, by the way. I play the bass!” And as if to demonstrate that, a few low, rumbling notes echoed through the room, shaking everything slightly.

“Okay, _Kogie,_ mind explainin’ why you’re in my dream?” When the world stopped shaking, Strife crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

“Can’t a guy just want to see his bandmate’s new boytoy?”

This induced a lot of indignant spluttering from Strife.

Kogie laughed. “And we know that you’re besotted with him. It’s pretty easy to look after him- he likes riddles and chaos and being an idiot. Don’t feed him monopoly houses though!”

“Should I ask,” Strife said, not turning that into a question. “Did he actually _eat-_ “

“I made him do it with a gun to his head.”

“Oh.”

Kogie was watching him now with a rather predatory look. “There’s a reason I’m seeing you first,” he said. “You see, I’m the director.”

“What?” That seemed an awfully odd thing to say.

“I set this up,” said Kogie. “Directed it all.” He gestured all around the world, at the walls and at Strife himself. “Of course, it’s all just- illusions, blowing away in the wind.”

“What the hell,” said Strife so very eloquently. “Look- how the hell do I get you to get out of my head? I want to have a good nights dream!”

And-

Kogie laughs, and his eyes seem to glimmer with something far more than the reflections of the light. Again, he holds out the plastic money, shoving it in Strife’s face. “Take it,” he said.

“But you just told me to-”

“ _Take it,_ ” Kogie said, his voice edged by the hint of bass strings. “You’re not supposed to do it, but you’re going to fucking do it because otherwise, I’ll shoot you. Or shave your beard off. Who knows?!”

Strife slowly reaches out, and as he takes the money-

 

* * *

 

 

**3\. robbed of my eternity – euphemia**

He suddenly found himself in what looked to be a kitchen- well, it seemed like any normal kind of kitchenette, but the window was steamed up and he was feeling rather hot himself. He shoved the money he was holding into his pockets, then he unbuttoned his vest and a few of his shirt buttons, but wasn’t quite willing to undo it all the way. He’d suffer for this, godammit!

There was a couch in front of him, and he can see a red beanie covering tousled brown hair.

“So, I’m assumin’ you’re another one of Parv’s old band, come to torment me in my dreams,” said Strife. “Which I’m not a big fan of, honestly. Like your music, _don’t_ like bein’ messed with.”

Strife stepped forward, ready to confront whoever it was- and stopped right in his tracks. He gaped at the ludicrous sight in front of him, wishing that he could bleach his mind of the memory it was making right now.

The guy was sitting on the couch, quite shirtless. There was a mess of cereal and milk on his body, and he was eating it with _gusto._

Strife stood there, wordless. After a while of awkward silence, the guy finally deigned to turn to him, spoon halfway to his face. “We didn’t have any bowls,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So I became a bowl.”

“But- you’re in a _kitchen._ ”

“Bowls were dirty,” said the guy. “We couldn’t be bothered washing them.”

It came spilling out. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be a- an _animal_ and just eat off yourself! That’s- no! That’s unsanitary, and- just wash the friggin’ bowl! You’re worse than Parvis!”

“We tried to use Parv’s shoe, but that was just disgusting,” said the guy, rather casually. “I threw up.”

Strife tried to process the thought and nearly threw up himself.

The guy looked like he was trying to dredge up a thought from the depths of his stomach. “Parv likes you,” he said.

“And who are you to say that? What do you do in this band apart from eatin’ cereal from yourself?” Strife might have sounded overly sarcastic, but he definitely wasn’t blaming himself.

“I’m Leo,” said the guy.

“Yeah, hi, Leo, I’d love to stay and chat but this dream is weird so I’d like to wake up now…” Strife trailed off. He could-

He could hear something reverberating, something through the floor and the walls and through his very _bones_ , some kind of rhythm. It’s in him, it’s in his _heartbeat,_ and Strife grabs onto the sofa to steady himself. He shoots Leo a glare, although he notices that the cereal isn’t vibrating to the beat.

Without skipping a beat, Leo says, “I’m the drummer.”

“Good for you,” said Strife. “Now, can you please get out of my dream? Or are you gonna be _weird_ like the last guy? Not that you’re not. Already. Weird.”

“Sometimes,” Leo said, and his voice is staccato beats with cymbal taps. “Sometimes people are things, Strife. Sometimes I’m a bowl. Sometimes Parv’s an idiot. Sometimes you’re not what you think you are.”

Strife sighed. “What is it _with_ you guys and philosophical bullshit? Cut the crap! Tell me what to do so that I can get out of here!” The temperature was definitely hotter now, and Strife was _not_ willing to go completely shirtless in the company of this weirdo.

There was a door, but somehow, Strife didn’t think it’d get him out of this mess. He walked over to it and opened it to see-

as if blocked by an invisible glass wall in the doorway-

Water, filling the hallway. Shimmering, distorted _water_ , clear as day, vibrating with the drumbeats that were getting a bit more than just something _felt._

“You can’t get out that way,” said Leo from behind him, and Strife groaned.

He slammed the door and turned around, marching up to Leo. “Tell me how to get out, then! Stop bein’ so cryptic!”

Wordlessly, Leo held out his spoon.

“No,” said Strife.

Leo said nothing.

“ _No,_ ” said Strife, again with more force. “I am _not_ eating from your cereal. No!”

Leo continued to say nothing

but the drumbeats were getting louder, and Strife felt like his skull was going to burst-

so he grabbed the spoon-

 

* * *

 

 

**4\. all the lights in the sky**

The world was dark now, the kitchen fading quite away into a dark dreamless sleep – but Strife was still awake, still aware, still _conscious_. He tried to move, but he found himself quite restrained by the paralysation of his own body parts, his own _body_ betraying him.

There was a fourth member of the band, wasn’t there? The guitarist’s manic grin rose to a position of prominence in his memory – Strife knew him well. Intimately, even, through fuckups and teamwork and their strange friendship that was both loving and hateful.

The bassist, claimed puppeteer and director, had given him directions. The drummer, silly yet eternal, had given him a warning. Strife _knew_ that they were playing with him, plucking his strings and tapping out rhythms in his skull, but to what end?

Who else was in the band. That was the riddle now, and Parv loved riddles, according to Kogie. Strife couldn’t imagine who else a band would _need_ – you had the melody, the backing harmony and the backbone beat to go with it.

And-

“You wouldn’t want to forget,” says someone, out loud.

It’s not Strife.

Oh, there was one part of him that he could feel and move. He was still _breathing._ “I’m not forgettin’ anythin’,” he said, speaking slowly to rejoice in the words and how he could finally fucking _affect_ something.

“Keep telling yourself that.” The voice was male and quite amused. “Sometimes I wonder what Parv sees in you. Sometimes I wonder what you see in Parv. Quite the failure, he is.”

Strife grit his teeth. “You can’t call him that,” he said.

“Why not? That’s what he _is._ That’s what you _call_ him.”

“No,” said Strife, and if he could feel his face he’d be feeling how _flushed_ he was getting. “ _No._ I call him- an idiot, a noob, but he’s- with _my_ help, he’s improving, he’s getting’ _better_ , and I do it out of fucking affection. You’re just being an asshole!”

The voice chuckles, and the lights-

there are suddenly thousands of pinpricks of lights, dashing past Strife’s eyes, downwards and falling to some far off ground somewhere. He can feel his body now and he’s floating, in zero gravity. He waves a hand in front of his eyes and is so relieved to see it, illuminated by the falling stars.

There’s something approaching. Walking on nothingness is a man with a ginger beard and a striped jumper, holding what looks like a hybrid cross between a keyboard and a guitar .

The man speaks, and it’s the same voice. “I’m an asshole. I’m the singer and synth player of Area 11, the one who masters the tracks and the band. I’m the keeper of the mysteries of the Digital Haunt. Still a bastard, though.”

Strife realises that he’s slightly curled up, in a foetal position. How embarrassing. He straightens himself up slowly, although the lack of gravity makes him wobbly and keeps him from properly meeting the man eye to eye. With a growl in his voice, Strife says, “How _dare_ you say those things about Parvis.”

“Only you can say those things to him, right? That’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it?” The man smirks at him, and Strife can feel his blood _boil._

“Who are you to say things like that?”

The man reaches out to Strife, letting his instrument hang from the strap around his shoulder. One of the stars hits his hand and explodes into tiny pieces, like glitter or-

“Sparkles, and I fucking own them.”

Strife tries to draw back, but he can’t kick against anything. He’s _stuck,_ floating there like an idiot as this guy insults his _friend._ “Sparkles? What does that mean?” he asks.

“It’s my name. The asterisk is silent, by the way,” _Sparkles_ adds, clarifying something quite nonsensical. “But- yeah, they’re my band. I’m the leader of the band, why _can’t_ I say whatever I want about them?”

“It doesn’t _work_ like that,” Strife says. “You maniac. You can’t own people.”

“Says Mr. Free Labour.”

And here, Strife frowns. “How- how do you know about that? How do you know- why are you in my _dream,_ how do you know who the hell I _am?!_ ” He doesn’t have anything on him, in this dreamscape, but he’s ready to- to do _something_ if Sparkles tries anything.

Sparkles-

Sparkles has collected a small pile of stars in his hand, and he opens his fingers to let them trail through, trickling fairy dust through the air. He steps towards Strife and grabs Strife’s hand, and stardust explodes outwards from their hand, enveloping them all in stars. Strife’s coughing, his eyes shut tight against the glaring luminescence, and when he cracks them open again-

Parv.

Alexander Parvis is holding his other hand, standing in the starstorm, grinning roguishly. Strife glances around, and yup, to his right is Kogie, smirking, and to his left is Leo, thankfully clothed in the same Area 11 tee shirt as the rest of them.

Sparkles is wearing that now, too.

“If there’s a test,” says Parv, “I guess you’ve passed it. Or something. I dunno!”

“That- that was all a _test?_ ” Strife stares, watching the stars fall behind the band around him. The stars are falling in their eyes, too, and it’s not just reflections from their surroundings. “But- I’m dreaming-“

“ _Dreams are reality_ ,” sings Sparkles, and a snippet of _song_ bursts into reality in Strife’s ears before fading away again.

“I hope it’s not a test to let me in your band. I’m not musical at all.” And he doesn’t want to join them, anyway. He’d rather be on his own, a lone wolf selling solutions and teaching the lost.

“We don’t _want_ you in our band,” says Kogie.

Parv pipes up. “Strifey, it’s a _test_ to see if- well, it’s a bit hard to explain, but there are three parts to love-”

“Or so I believe,” Sparkles interjects.

“And- I lost them, and I didn’t know where they were, but you- you _helped_ me find them, Strife! They weren’t looking very hard for me, though.” Parv frowns, exaggeratedly, but then he lights up and grins.

But Strife has one more question, amongst many-

“What _are_ you?”

“We’re stars,” says Leo, and he places a hand on Strife’s shoulder.

“We’re fucking amazing,” says Kogie, and he too reaches out to support Strife.

“We- we _were_ one, but now we’re four,” says Parv, and he sounds a bit sheepish. “And then there were three, but, _Strife,_ I’m complete again! And- you were my friend, but they- they were my _band-_ “

Strife thinks he’s saying something else, but his mind isn’t letting him _get_ it. Something _more_ than band, something more _complete._

Their ringleader, Sparkles- for what else are stars but sparkles in the sky?

The fallen star smiles down at him, and says, “You’re _ours._ ”

All the lights in the sky-

Strife

wakes

up.

 

* * *

 

 

**0\. push your human weaknesses aside**

Parv didn’t say anything when Strife saw him next. He acted completely normal, deflecting all of Strife’s questions and taking Strife on yet another crazy adventure, and Strife rather forgot a lot of that _weird_ dream*-

but-

one night, when they’re just sitting outside, watching the stars-

Strife turns to Parv in a quiet moment, and he sees in Parv’s dark, dark eyes falling stars.

He hears the thrum of a bass guitar.

He hears the beat of a drum.

He hears the singer.

And-

he can’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> * he did wake up with a spoon and some plastic money in his pockets, though.


End file.
